


Two Blinks for 'No'

by Verbyna



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Best Friends, Communication Failure, M/M, Polyamory, poly!fail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbyna/pseuds/Verbyna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years ago he thought Kaner would grow up, but he grew more like himself instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Blinks for 'No'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jedusaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/gifts).



> [J told me to write this eight months ago](https://www.box.com/s/w8uyt2tuw0ihz6iiwus6). She also yankpicked the final draft. And, you know, waited for eight months. <3 Title from Los Campesinos!' _[Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9P41Qdkk6OA)_ , the theme song.
> 
> UPDATE: I considered deleting this fic, but in the end I decided to keep it here for archival purposes.

You wanted happiness, I can’t blame you for that,  
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy  
but tell me  
you love this, tell me you’re not miserable.  
You do the math, you expect the trouble.

\- Richard Siken, _Seaside Improvisation_

 

Kaner bites Jonny’s lower lip, and Jonny’s hands twist harder in the back of Kaner’s shirt. They turned the A/C off earlier and they’re both sweaty after half an hour of this, but Jonny isn’t ready to stop just yet. He slides his hands lower, pulling the fabric down with them.

“Hey, no, I’ve gotta get out of here,” Kaner says, laughing.

“But,” says Jonny, and doesn’t know how to follow it up. “Are you good for condoms? I’m out.”

Kaner nods, still smiling a little, softer. His hair’s a mess and there’s a hickey low on the side of his neck. Jonny did that. His teeth are buzzing with it. He takes a deliberate step back so he doesn’t end up adding another mark when Kaner pokes the bruise and makes a face, but he wasn’t complaining yesterday.

 

*

 

Kaner goes on his date without complaining about the marks. Jonny makes himself a snack, waits half an hour so he won’t throw up, and hits the gym.

The next morning, he wakes up to Kaner gulping down water in Jonny’s kitchen. He looks like shit. Jonny yawns loudly to announce his presence and Kaner chokes, mid-swallow. Jonny clenches his jaw and walks over to pound him on the back.

“You knew I was home,” he points out, because an apology would be ridiculous. “Hangover?”

Kaner nods, so Jonny goes to bring him some painkillers and a straw for the water bottle. He knows by now that Kaner spills everything in the first couple of hours after he starts to sober up - water, coffee, what he did last night. Next to him, Jonny feels like every cliché he’s heard about himself, grown up and responsible and early to bed.

He still wants to match the hickey on Patrick’s neck, though; that’s as much a part of Jonny as the responsibility. It probably comes from the same place.

Kaner doesn’t seem surprised to find Jonny suddenly clamped to his neck, pushing him back against the counter; he laughs at the ceiling, loud in Jonny’s ear. He tastes as bad as he looks, like sweat and Axe and bitter, cloying perfume.

“It’s like that, huh?” he asks, sort of low and rough. Wrecked.

Jonny manages to nod without unlatching, and he doesn’t let up even a little, biting at Patrick’s skin. Kaner coughs again from the pressure on his throat, but when he recovers, he flips them around so Jonny’s shoved hard against the edge of the counter.

He winces when Kaner’s knees hit the floor with an audible crack. It’s nine in the morning and the day could go either way, winning or losing, except he doesn’t know what winning means here. Patrick probably knows.

The muscles in Jonny’s legs hurt from the aggressive workout last night, but Patrick’s looking up at him, giving Jonny something he always wants, and Jon was never too good at saying no to that. He pushes his fingers roughly into Patrick’s dirty hair and uses the grip to tilt Patrick’s head back, taking in the way Patrick’s fighting to keep his eyes open, the way his hands are braced on either side of Jonny’s aching thighs like he’ll fall over if he doesn’t anchor himself.

“Go ahead,” Jonny says, after he’s looked his fill.

Kaner’s voice is already shot. Neither of them needs to hold back. Jonny wants those five bruises on each hip where Patrick’s holding on so hard. He really does.

 

*

 

Sometimes Jonny wakes up and his mind’s made up to stop this thing with Kaner. And then he sees him, and he’s still _Patrick_ , so Jonny doesn’t stop anything. All the reasons are still there, but when Patrick’s around, Jonny can only see the ones that started the whole thing.

He’s already made a Patrick-shaped allowance in his self-discipline. He’s already—yeah.

 

*

 

Going to a club is Sharpy’s idea, but Sharpy begs out at the last minute, so it’s just Jonny and Kaner and a bunch of drunken strangers who sort of know who they are. Kaner spends the first hour right up against Jonny, drinking his own beer and then Jonny’s and then the line of shots he buys for them. Jonny knows what Kaner’s cutoff point is, so he notices when Kaner actually cuts himself off before he hits it.

“Why so grumpy, Tazer?” Kaner asks, shouting to be heard over the music.

Jonny cranes his neck to look at Kaner’s prospects instead of answering. There’s a girl who’s been eyeing them both up; he half-smiles at her just to see if Kaner reacts.

Half an hour later, Kaner’s making out with her to the side of the dancefloor, slow and filthy and sloppy. Jonny got himself a bourbon and water, very little water, and he’s sipping it methodically, keeping his elbows tucked in. He’s always coiling himself up when he’s drinking; the alcohol loosens him up, but he knows what damage his body can do. He also knows what Kaner’s body can do, knows what he could do to that girl, how he could pin her to a wall—Jonny looks over at them and the drink hits him all at once. He almost wrenches his neck when he looks away, but his mind’s already filed away the image.

He teeters a little when he stands up. For a moment he’s worried he’ll go over and do something stupid like untucking her hand from Kaner’s back pocket or pulling her away from him, but he swallows it down with the last sip of bourbon. He takes a deep breath and heads to the bathroom. People move out of his way instinctively. He’s glad of it, but he wonders how he looks right this minute, what makes them move aside, whether it’s his muscles or something else.

He doesn’t try to put together an expression when he catches sight of himself in the mirrors, just moves along to the urinals and unzips with economical moves, one-two-three.

The guy to his left shakes off and goes away. Jonny doesn’t pay attention to his surroundings until he hears Kaner’s voice, apologizing for running into the guy at the door.

“Jonny,” Kaner says in the relative silence that follows. “I thought you’d left.”

Jonny turns around as he zips up and doesn’t miss Kaner following the move with his eyes, but most of his attention is fixed on Kaner’s swollen lips. Kaner swallows and tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite stick. He makes his way slowly to a stall, like Jonny’s a wild animal he needs to avoid.

Jon takes great satisfaction in stalking after him with his non-expression, just to see him worry for a second.

The last thing he wants right now is to kiss Kaner with someone else’s spit in his mouth, some pretty girl who got more of him than she should’ve. He lets the stall door slam shut behind them and grabs Kaner’s shoulder to turn him around so he’s facing the wall behind the toilet.

Kaner’s head falls forward when Jonny plasters himself to his back, from chest to knees. Now that they’re here, they both know what’s going to happen a few seconds before it does: Jonny’s hands pushing Kaner’s jeans and briefs down, the first rough jerk, the first bite to the back of Kaner’s exposed neck. Heat rises from them in waves, humid and cloying. Jonny doesn’t want to close his eyes and doesn’t want to think about punching Kaner in the ribs from this angle, breaking him so Jonny’s the only one who can put him back together.

He’s always been aggressive. In their world, it’s encouraged, as long as it’s smart. Jonny is feeling pretty damn virtuous right now, all things considered.

He lets Kaner scowl when he wipes come off his hand on Kaner’s shirt. Kaner takes the girl home as soon as they leave the bathroom, which isn’t retaliation, because that’s what he meant to do all along.

No one gets punched, but Jonny’s still winded. He smells like Kaner’s aftershave, so he showers twice. It turns his stomach.

 

*

 

They have years between them, good and bad. Mostly good: potential fulfilled, smooth skating, heads up when they hit the boards.

The bad parts loom larger than the good, sometimes. Like Jonny’s jaw right now, almost dislocated earlier around Kaner’s cock, aching as he bites down on the mouthguard; like getting knocked out of the playoffs last year. Toothbrushes missing from cups in bathrooms, condom wrappers found in pockets during dry spells, none of it surprising.

At no point was Jonny blind. Kaner’s his best friend. He’s never lied to Jonny and he’s never given less than he could.

 

*

 

They’re watching The Bourne Identity in Kaner’s living room when Kaner’s phone beeps with a text. It’s the scene where Bourne cuts the girl’s hair, after everything’s gone to shit, and Kaner’s ignoring the screen as he types a reply.

“Who’s that?” Jonny asks, because he’s not as smart as he pretends to be.

Kaner half-smiles, distracted. “Moira. From the other night, like—“

“Big boobs, didn’t care which one of us she took home?”

When Jonny was really young, one of his teammates took piano lessons. The notes were big and rich and echoed, like stadiums would, later. What he liked best was the damper pedal. The same sound, but made manageable somehow, like an indoor voice instead of a shout. His coaches kept the best praise for small voices, little comments. The first gasp from Kaner is always the nicest sound of the evening.

Jonny and Kaner’s breaking points and limits aren’t drawn in big red lines. Jonny doesn’t throw a punch and Kaner doesn’t raise his voice, but the weight of them dampens the volume for the really important things.

“Fuck you,” Kaner says, “she’s fucking nice. I told her I was seeing someone, seeing you, and you know what she said? She has two boyfriends and she fucking loves them.”

“Patrick—“

Kaner looks a little green around the edges. “The world doesn’t revolve around your ass. You know that—“

“I do know,” Jonny interrupts, clearing his throat. “It’s just.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll go home, I think. I wanted to go to bed early.”

Kaner looks at him for a long moment, clutching the phone tightly. “You do that.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Kaner says. It sounds like defeat. Jonny hates it, but Kaner’s giving off do-not-touch vibes, so Jonny has no choice but to pull on his sneakers and pick up his keys from the table in the hallway to let himself out. It’s his own fault for taking out his frustration on the girl, but it’s easier to blame a stranger than to blame no one.

The worst part is that all the people Kaner fucks would be better at having relationships with him than Jonny is. He thinks about it in the car and ignores the phone buzzing insistently in his pocket.

It’s like a game replay: these are the parts he didn’t pay attention to when he should’ve, this is the bit that was unfair; this is where his best wasn’t good enough.

 

*

 

Jonny’s on his knees in front of Kaner. Kaner’s hands are clasped behind his back; his head’s lolling forward so Jonny can see all of his reactions. They smell like the soap they both use in the locker room, but Kaner will always taste different, something sickly sweet and salty that Jonny chases in his food and in his sleep.

He licks a stripe up the underside of Kaner’s dick and stops with the head balanced on his lower lip, drying slowly from his expelled breath.

“C’mon,” Kaner bites out.

Jonny tosses the condom away after he finishes Kaner off, quick and dirty. He pushes Kaner down on the bed and wonders how many people have seen him like this, like he’s so fucked out that he’d do anything, no questions asked.

Two years ago he thought Kaner would grow up, but he grew more like himself instead.

 

*

 

Everything else is easy. It doesn’t have anything to do with hockey, except for how they’re _them_ , so it circles back to hockey eventually; they have friends and families and a team they can rely on, but they also have quiet days alone with no more touching than accidental brushes. They sleep in the same bed or they go home and that’s all there is to it.

He forgets to be mad about the one thing that’s driving him insane, faced with so many good things. Just for a little while.

When he agreed to keep things open with Kaner, he didn’t mean casual. It’s not casual. It’s everything he cares about, everything he’s worked for, with a revolving door on it for whoever Kaner invites in for the night.

 

*

 

“Should I try harder?”

Jon’s pretty drunk; he wouldn’t ask otherwise. Patrick just looks sad, or - or something. Jon can’t really tell, so he drags the bottle up to his mouth again, waiting.

They started out celebrating, but that was hours ago; everyone else left his hotel room to rest up for the flight home. They tried to get him to do the same, which was nice of them. They worry about him. He’d like to reassure them, except he doesn’t know what to say when the problem’s with him.

“It’s not about trying harder,” Patrick says eventually. “It is what it is.”

“Don’t give me that.”

“What?”

Jon wipes his mouth with the back of his free hand and then reaches for Kaner, but he lets his hand drop to the covers at the last moment. He’s at that stage where touching anything with his open palm sends shivers up to his elbow, so he makes a fist, grimacing.

“It is what it is,” he parrots back. “I can’t work with that, I need -”

He needs something he can work with, a way to be good enough. If he’s not the best at giving Kaner what he wants, he’s not sure he deserves the rest of it.

Patrick huffs and crosses his arms, staring at the ceiling. Jon can’t look away from him. He has the weirdest feeling that if he looks away, Patrick’s gonna disappear. He didn’t used to worry about it. He definitely didn’t worry about it until Patrick came back from Europe a little distant, like he’s bracing himself.

“I can’t have this conversation right now,” Patrick says, breaking into his thoughts. “You’re drunk as hell, you should be sleeping. Fuck, you’re the captain, okay? Sleep it off.”

He starts to get up and this time Jonny grabs his arm, though all he manages to do is spill bourbon on himself when Kaner pulls away. He walks halfway around the bed, then they’re looking at each other stupidly over the length of the mattress. Jonny’s suddenly aware of how he must look right now, how right Kaner is. The flight is in four hours.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’ll do that.”

“Yeah,” says Kaner. He doesn’t leave.

Jonny’s almost asleep by the time Kaner’s done pacing and slips under the comforter on the far side of the bed. He might’ve heard Kaner saying something, but in the morning he can’t tell if he dreamed it or not.

 

*

 

Patrick hasn’t picked up in two months when he comes over to Jonny’s with a six-pack of shitty beer and a guilty slump to his shoulders. Jon takes the beer and puts it on the coffee table, then goes back to the elliptical. It faces the room, since he doesn’t really stop working out when he has people over unless he has to. He watches Kaner pop one open, picking up speed.

“So. I’ve been thinking,” says Kaner. He takes a long pull and swallows it loudly before he follows that up with, “Maybe we should take a break.”

Jonny grunts, but he doesn’t say anything. There’s a lump in his throat like he’s gonna throw up, so he shuts up and focuses on his breathing. Kaner’s not looking at him, picking at the label on the bottle instead. He shouldn’t be drinking at one in the afternoon, not that Jonny’s gonna judge him for it when he’s apparently here for a breakup.

“I don’t wanna, like, break up or anything,” Kaner says, “but this isn’t working.”

“It’s working,” Jonny says. He’s lying, but he has to lie about this. “It’s fine. I don’t need a break.”

Kaner lets that hang in the air for a moment. “I really fucking need a break.”

Jonny stops pedaling. “What?”

“I’m kinda done with the guilt. Everyone can tell there’s shit going on with us, even when it’s off the ice. We’re letting the team down.”

“It’s not affecting the games,” Jonny says, because it has to be said. He didn’t fuck that up. He made sure of it. “And what do you mean, guilt?”

Kaner looks at him. Jonny instantly wishes he hadn’t. They don’t talk about feelings, it’s not how they’re built, but they learned to talk about disappointment for the press junket. Kaner’s disappointed in himself. It’s written all over his face.

“I tried,” he tells Jon. “You’re so fucking sad all the time and it’s on me.” He smiles, sort of. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere, asshole.”

Jon didn’t work so hard on the lockout negotiations just to bring Kaner back to Chicago, but it was a big part of it. He doesn’t play so hard because he plays with Kaner, but he hates letting him down more than the rest of the team put together.

So he says, “Whatever you need. A break. It’s fine.”

Later, after they finish the beer and eat the chicken Jon made to keep himself from screaming, Kaner says, “You don’t have to wait.”

They both know Jon’s gonna wait. He’s gonna check Kaner for bruises that look like mouths, and he’s gonna see them, because they look nothing like the bruises they all get from playing. He’ll find them. He won’t bring them up, ever.

And when they’re both wasted after a win, they’ll fall back into old habits.

 

*

 

Two years ago, Patrick bit Jon on the side of the neck and said, “I kinda want to do this all the time.”

 _All the time,_ Jon repeated in his head. He really thought (he still does, weeks after Patrick went back to being his best friend) that if he tried hard enough, he wouldn’t make Patrick take that back.

“Go for it.”

What else was there to say?


End file.
